


The Wishing Well

by sweetautumnwine



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur is angry, Camping, Light Angst, Merlin is careless, What else is new
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-30 04:42:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17217173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetautumnwine/pseuds/sweetautumnwine
Summary: Merlin has heard of a well in the forest, and he manages to convince Arthur that they should investigate. He doesn't anticipate being discovered. Faced with a difficult decision, Merlin must decide between the fate of the kingdom and his own peace of mind.





	The Wishing Well

**Author's Note:**

> Written based on a prompt sent by Inkspillsnotebook!

 

“You really are daft.” Arthur tightened a knot around a pair of branches, affixing the tarp to secure their makeshift shelter. “We’re on a schedule, Merlin. We don’t have time to chase after myths and fairies.”

 

With his back turned, Merlin rolled his eyes as he scooped up an awkward bundle of dry wood. “I _thought_ it would be a nice detour.”

 

“We’re a day behind the others,” Arthur snapped. “Gwen’ll have my head if we’re late for the opening ceremony. She loves the festivals.”

 

“So do you,” Merlin muttered, dropping the twigs beside the stone circle he’d arranged.

 

Before leaving Camelot, Gaius had warned Merlin of the forest, how the path to the distant city was enchanted by some ancient magic. At the center of the forest, concealed by dense vegetation, was a well, believed to be inhabited by a creature of legend, one so ancient its name was no longer known. Throughout their travels, Merlin had heard something calling to him, speaking his name as a whisper, punctuating the syllables with the sound of water dripping.

 

He was being summoned. And he didn’t want to go alone.

 

“Even if the well isn’t magic,” Merlin said, wiping his palms on his trousers, “we deserve a break.”

 

“Maybe _I_ do, but Merlin, you don’t do anything.” Arthur pressed the toe of his shoe into the back of Merlin’s knee, forcing it to buckle. “And this isn’t exactly my idea of an ideal vacation.”

 

Merlin caught himself, then leered over his shoulder. “You should be grateful for what you get,” he said sourly. “Spoiled prince.”

 

There was a flash in Arthur’s eyes, and his hand twitched by his side, as though impulse drove him to seize his sword. “You’re very lucky, Merlin, to be so close to your _king_ that he doesn’t strike you down when you insult him.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry, Your Majesty.”

 

Merlin crouched by his bag to withdraw cooking supplies, fighting to level his breathing. It was easy to forget that Arthur was a skilled, strong man, capable of both diplomacy and manslaughter. When he wasn’t speaking to Merlin, his words could be as sharp as his blade. Remembering this made Merlin’s work much more difficult. Protecting a man like this was an honor, truly, but the king couldn’t know how dangerous his life was, even with Merlin at his side.

 

* * *

Night fell. Merlin stoked the fire as Arthur lay on his back, fighting to keep his eyes open.

 

“Go to sleep, Arthur,” Merlin said, stifling a yawn. “We’re waking early, and we’ve got a long journey in the morning.”

 

“And whose fault is that again?”

 

Merlin sighed. He wiped the sleep from his eyes and gripped his knees as he rose.

 

A sting of pain pierced his temples, and he stumbled, allocating one hand to his head while the other darted out to his side for balance. The whisper had returned, sharper that before, fraught with a magic he couldn’t begin to comprehend, and his breathing grew labored.

 

On the other side of the fire, Arthur sat up, brows furrowed. “Merlin, are you—”

 

_Go east, Emrys. Come. You’ve kept me waiting._

 

“I—”

 

_Time is of the essence._

 

“I have to go east,” Merlin choked out, forcing his eyes open. “That’s where it is.”

 

“What is?”

 

“The well.” He blindly grabbed his bag and shuffled forward, teeth chattering. “I… I’ll be back by morning.”

 

When Arthur grabbed his arm, Merlin nearly tripped. He hadn’t realized Arthur had risen, too, and as he turned, he saw a sternness he recognized from the stare of the late Uther Pendragon. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Merlin?”

 

“I…” Merlin swallowed, regaining some sense. “I’ll check out the well by myself, tonight, so we can leave first thing in the morning. Wouldn’t want you to be late to the celebration.”

 

Arthur pressed his lips together, setting his jaw before speaking through clenched teeth. “If you have a death wish, you could have just told me. I’d be happy to strike the killing blow myself.”

 

Wrestling his arm from Arthur’s grasp, Merlin lowered his gaze. His head throbbed with the will of an external force, and he fought against it, just to think of a way out. “Look, Arthur, I need you… I just need you to trust me.”

 

With a cocked brow, Arthur grimaced. “You haven’t given me much reason to.”

 

“I know.” The confession came bluntly, with genuine intention enough to visibly stun Arthur. “There’s something I have to do. It’s probably dangerous, and I don’t want…”

 

Arthur crossed his arms. “You don’t want me to come along. Is that it?”

 

Though his conclusion certainly wasn’t accurate, not entirely, Merlin nodded. “Nothing against you, sire, but you would only slow me down.”

 

Shifting his jaw, Arthur shook his head, then laughed. “Fine. Don’t die, Merlin. I’d rather not have to plan another funeral.”

 

“Don’t worry,” Merlin said, offering a smile. “At least mine wouldn’t be very expensive. I’m just a manservant. Easily replaceable.”

 

“You joke,” Arthur said, looking back at the fire, “but you know you are much more than that.”

 

Merlin sought Arthur’s eyes but found them inaccessible and unwilling; his profile was shadowed by the light of the flames, burning low. “If you say so.”

 

“Merlin.”

 

Shutting his eyes, Merlin stiffened, shoulders tensed. He _hated_ that audacious tone, how Arthur could speak with such authority, command an audience of even the most skeptical patrons, Merlin included. “Yes?”

 

“You mean a great deal, to me and to our kingdom.” Arthur’s candidness was brutal. “You’ve proven to be irreplaceable.”

 

“Sire—”

 

Arthur ground his heel into the dirt. “Just be careful, Merlin. You’ve got a bad habit of acting recklessly, and you lack the skills to ensure your own safety. It’s incredibly troublesome.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“Save it,” Arthur said, losing his nerve. “Whatever it is you have to do, make sure it’s worth doing. I’ll be here for you, but if you aren’t back by morning, don’t expect me to wait.”

 

Without another word, Merlin nodded, hefted his bag onto his shoulder, and ventured into the woods.

 

* * *

The farther he got from their campsite, the more Merlin worried. Arthur’s leniency always came with a price; if Merlin was unable to provide an adequate excuse for his behavior, Arthur would surely lose faith. Merlin had spent years cultivating their relationship of mutual trust and support, and if a minor investigation into a wishing well were to destroy that, Merlin would never forgive himself.

 

He paused to catch his breath, squinting into the dark wood. The voice had fallen silent, leaving Merlin to the noises of the night and the sound of his own breathing. He believed he had to be close; there was a faint pressure in his chest that suggested he was right. But in this darkness, he could barely navigate without tripping over exposed roots and uneven terrain.

 

In all his travels with Arthur, Merlin had learned to be cautious. Discovery could mean his death, and Merlin believed his cause to be reason enough to live. Still, he had promised Arthur he would return by morning, and given how far he had gone from camp, he was unsure if he would even be able to find his way back at all.

 

Raising a hand with the palm heaven-facing, Merlin lowered his chin and murmured, “ _Léoht_.”

 

The spell was a simple one, rooted in his early studies, and it had grown stronger since he first began practicing magic. His eyes shimmered in the dark, a golden halo surrounding his pupil as his spell took shape. A sizable orb of pale light blossomed into being, floating just above his hand and extending its glow outward, granting him visibility.

 

As expected, the light didn’t allow him to identify any clear path, but just being able to see the ground before him would at least keep him from enduring unnecessary injury. Merlin had to explain away his scrapes and bruises to Gaius enough already.

 

Merlin stepped forward, easing his way down a moderate incline of a few feet to reach a clearing. As he focused on the greenery ahead, he felt a blunt force plow into the back of his knees, buckling them.

 

And then, Merlin was falling.

 

He didn’t have far to fall, but when he met the earth, his elbow jammed against the frigid surface, twisting the limb to an unfavorable angle. He rolled, cradling his arm as he tried to catch himself, grant himself leverage to rise. His eyes flashed in the darkness as he sought his assailant.

 

The light still hovered in place, bobbing as though resting atop disturbed waters, and there, shrouded in its glow, stood Arthur, sheathed sword raised and face twisted into fury.

 

Merlin barely had the autonomy to raise his hands in surrender. His chest ached, in part from the fall but mostly from the expression of betrayal he saw clearly composed on Arthur’s features. “Arthur, I—”

 

“Don’t.” Arthur lowered his sword to point it at Merlin. “I don’t want excuses. I don’t want lies. Get up, Merlin, or I will strike you where you lay and leave your corpse here to rot.”

 

Though his body was bruised, Merlin obeyed, rising with deliberate motions to avoid causing further harm. He kept quiet. He wanted to counter Arthur’s inevitable accusations but instead devoted his attention elsewhere; this forest was not an ideal location to conduct this conversation, but Merlin recognized he no longer had any choice.

 

Once Merlin stood before him, Arthur lifted his face, and in the dim light, his eyes appeared shadowed, so unlike his jovial self, Merlin faltered. He kept his chin low and hands raised, wincing at the soreness that throbbed whenever he bent his arm.

 

Arthur seemed to hesitate, drawing his lower lip against his teeth. Merlin felt only primal things—fear and guilt. He knew how easily he could thwart Arthur with magic, how simple a spell he needed, could feel the words on his tongue—but he didn’t speak, barely breathed. With submissive eyes, he stared at Arthur, awaiting his judgment.

 

“You’re a sorcerer.” Arthur didn’t wait for confirmation. “You’ve been lying to me.”

 

The light fizzled before fading into the air. “Sire—”

 

Arthur’s grip on his sword tightened. “I trusted you, Merlin. Tell me, did I make a mistake?”

 

“No.” The word burst forth, and though Merlin was surprised, he didn’t regret his brazenness. “You didn’t. You know why I had to keep it from you. I have done nothing but serve you and your kingdom with my magic, you have my word.”

 

“What good is your word?” Arthur said, leveling his sword with Merlin’s stare. The balance was perfect, unwavering, but Merlin met his gaze. The sword dipped. “I don’t know you.”

 

“You do,” Merlin insisted. “Magic doesn’t change who I am.”

 

“It changed Morgana.”

 

“I’m not her.” Merlin felt that creeping dread claw up through his chest, finding footholds on his spine, but he fought through it. “I’m sorry, Arthur. I’m sorry that I kept this from you. But I guarantee, and you may slay me if I’m wrong, if I had revealed this sooner, you would have had me killed.”

 

There was a flash of something unbearably human in Arthur’s eyes, quickly replaced by that kingly demeanor he had worked so hard to foster. To Merlin’s surprise, he nodded.

 

“I can’t promise that I wouldn’t have done just that,” he said, letting the tip of his sword prod into the earth. One hand rose to clutch his forehead, fingers pressing into his scalp. “I’m not… My father’s influence was great. I’ve seen magic do great evil, Merlin. It’s maimed, cursed, and killed. So many lives have been ruined by magic. There are not many who are keen on using magic for _good_.”

 

“You have to believe that there are some,” Merlin said, pleading. “And that I am one of them.”

 

But Arthur shook his head. “I don’t know what to believe. I suppose if you wanted me dead, you’d have killed me by now. I’ve given you ample opportunities.”  


“You are far too important to die,” Merlin said, “especially by my hand.”

 

“But then again,” Arthur continued, lowering his hand from his face, “you aren’t very capable of doing _anything_ , so it’s hard to imagine you succeeding at _murder_.”

 

Merlin tried not to take offense, choosing not to mention the time he had been compelled to conduct that very task—and had in fact failed rather spectacularly. He cleared his throat. “My word may not mean much, but I promise I don’t want you dead. You are destined for greatness, and I am determined to see that through. There is no power on this earth that could make me wish you ill.”

 

“Careful, Merlin,” Arthur warned. “You’re getting sappy.”

 

“Just being honest, sire,” Merlin teased, weilding a crooked smile.

 

“Well, knock it off.” Arthur’s gaze turned steely. “I suppose I appreciate what you’ve done up until now, but I have responsibilities to my people. Personal bias has no place in a king’s quarters. I will have much to consider and discuss with my knights. You must realize that this complicates many things, Merlin.”

 

“It doesn’t have to,” Merlin blurted. “Please, Arthur—”

 

Arthur craned his neck toward the east. “Dawn will sneak up on us if we let it. I assume you still want to investigate that well, and given your behavior earlier, it must have something to do with magic. No sense in lying to me now. We should make haste.”

 

Merlin’s jaw stiffened, and he found no comfort in Arthur’s features. With a slow, weak nod, Merlin bore his palm toward the heavens, and when he spoke the spell again, his voice wavered. Arthur said nothing, but Merlin could sense the tension pressing against his back like a wall of humid air. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t ignore it. Instead, he allowed it to guide him forward, each step laborious, followed by an echo over the fallen branches littering the forest floor.

 

He didn’t speak, and neither did Arthur. Their hike was conducted in painful silence. At times, Merlin’s hand trembled, and the light flickered; he recovered before it could extinguish, but he couldn’t help but feel that Arthur was painstakingly observing him, making notes, casting judgment.

 

Merlin was a foolish sorcerer who couldn’t keep a secret, who couldn’t even guide his own way through the dark.

 

From up ahead, through brambles and bushes, Merlin caught the sound of water dripping. He slowed, raising his unoccupied hand to show Arthur he should stop.

 

Rather than stay back, Arthur crept closer until he stood beside Merlin, his eyes trained on the dark wood ahead. He lay his hand on the hilt of his sword, his body limber and war-ready. “What are we up against?”

 

“I don’t know.” Merlin steadied himself, desperately cycling through dozens of dusty texts Gaius had forced him to read. “Possibly nothing.”

 

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Not much of a magic genius, are you?” he said, sneering. “I should have anticipated that.”

 

Merlin decided not to acknowledge his comment.

 

Wary, Merlin crept forward, guiding the orb of light ahead to illuminate their path. It proceeded forward, dodging branches and dipping to indicate treacherous obstacles, roots that broke through the earth and shallow ditches that could twist an ankle.

 

“We’re close,” Merlin whispered.

 

“That light is fascinating,” Arthur said, not bothering to stifle his voice. “Are you controlling it?”

 

“Yes. Please be quiet.”

 

“It’s familiar,” Arthur continued, raising low boughs away from his head as though mesmerized. “I swear I’ve seen it before.”

 

Merlin paused, turned to him with an uncommonly sharp look in his eyes. “This shouldn’t come as a surprise now, but I have in fact used magic on and around you. We can talk about all the ways I’ve betrayed your trust later. Right now, I would appreciate if you allowed me to concentrate.”

 

He sensed Arthur’s agitation, and though it was justified, Merlin grit his teeth and prepared to retaliate. Arthur was strong in many ways, in physical might as well as spirit, but magic was something he didn’t understand and couldn’t be bothered to try.

 

Fortunately, neither of them had a chance to bicker. From the clearing ahead of them, a soft blue light began to pulse, and Merlin’s hovering orb of light flickered before descending and dissolving into cinders. He frowned, extending a hand to coax it back into shape, but nothing happened.

 

“Really, Merlin?” Arthur whispered. “Are you out of magic? Serves me right that the one sorcerer in my life can’t even light a path.”

 

“No, that’s not it,” Merlin snapped. He examined his hand, growing cold when he realized he couldn’t feel that familiar tingle of power racing just beneath his skin. “I don’t… know. I can’t—”

 

_You’ve come at last._

 

Merlin stiffened, then shifted, placing himself between the voice and Arthur. No matter how Arthur had changed, Merlin still owed him a great deal. There was more to the young king than the fragments of his father’s biases. There was hope for a better future yet.

 

Lifting his chin, Merlin sought the voice’s origin. At the heart of the clearing sat a stone well, crude in its construction but beautiful in its simplicity. With one delicate hand resting against the lip of the well, a figure cloaked in light stood, their face appearing so smooth it was almost featureless.

 

Whatever the being was, be it fae or otherwise, Merlin feared its power, how its form seemed to radiant raw energy, though he sensed it meant him no harm. “Why did you call me here?”

 

Behind him, Arthur shifted, and Merlin heard the telltale sound of metal scraping against its sheath. Before Arthur could properly draw his sword, Merlin stepped backwards, tilting his head just enough to indicate his king. “This may be difficult for you to hear,” Merlin murmured, “but when dealing with magic, often it’s best to reserve combat as a last resort. Magic creatures won’t be felled as easily as a man with leather strapped to his chest.”

 

“Well, I suppose you _are_ the expert.” Arthur’s tone housed more bitterness than Merlin had expected, but the sword slipped back into its holster and Arthur backed down, retreating a few steps to provide some space.

 

Merlin faced the being once more, and despite how intently he struggled to observe them, he found he could not identify their species. There was no malice or benevolence; the creature appeared to be possessed by pure neutrality.

 

For some reason, this unnerved Merlin more than it would have had the being seemed intent on killing him.

 

He took a small step forward, dipping his chin in a mild display of reverence. “Who are you?”

 

“Who am I not?” the being said without a moment’s hesitation. “The answer to both questions is the same, young warlock. Do not waste my time.”

 

“What the hell is it talking about?” Arthur whispered, leaning close.

 

Merlin shook his head to try to dissuade Arthur from speaking. “I’m not familiar with your kind. I only wish to learn more. I meant no offense.”

 

“You never speak to me with that kind of respect,” Arthur mumbled.

 

“There are no others,” the being said. “I know you mourn for my loneliness, Emrys, but fear not. My solitude is as it should be.”

 

Merlin frowned, searching his memory. Gaius had never taught him about any such creature, and in his adventures, Merlin hadn’t encountered anything quite so cryptic. “Why did you call me here?”

 

The being tilted their head inquisitively. Raising a hand with fingers outstretched, they rose to their full height, towering above the roof of the well. “Prying ears are not welcome here,” they said. “I do not extend my trust to mere mortals. They cannot comprehend the truth.”

 

“No, he’s a friend,” Merlin said. The dread he’d felt before at the campsite, that gnawing ache, returned tenfold. “He’s with me. He’s fine. You can trust him. He is a fabled king. I know him well.”

 

But the being shook their head. “You’re wrong, Emrys,” they said. “You should hear what thoughts he hides from you inside his heart.”

 

Arthur drew his sword before Merlin could respond. “Don’t act like you know who I am, beast,” he said, swinging the blade once. “I’m the king of Camelot, and I will not stand—”

 

He dropped.

 

Though the being had neither spoken nor moved, Merlin had sensed the slight leak of power in the air at the moment Arthur fell, like a pure bolt of magic. Merlin’s instinct was to retaliate, but he instead grounded himself and waited, listening to confirm Arthur was still breathing. A younger, less experienced Merlin might have lashed out, spewing futile magic and punches, but he knew better than to fight powerful beings with force.

 

He took a steadying breath. “You didn’t need to do that.”

 

“His heart is conflicted,” the being said. “He would only make this more difficult.”

 

“What? What do you want?” As much as Merlin wanted to maintain his composure, the sudden assault on his companion had frayed his nerves, and the being’s nonchalance agitated him. “What is so important that you had to hurt him?”

 

With an inquisitive tilt of their head, the being before him stepped closer. “I did this to protect you, Emrys. His faith is shaken. Your heart is so closely tied to his, so fragile. Betrayal will damage your bond and destroy that connection you have fought so hard and so long to craft. I know how such devastation would pain you.”

 

“You don’t know me.” Driven by fear and anger, Merlin clenched his fists by his sides and struggled to stay calm. “Yes, Arthur is conflicted right now, but that doesn’t mean he’d betray me. And once he gave it some thought, he’d realize that I would never betray him, either. That’s our relationship.”

 

When the being was within a few feet of Merlin, he was able to discern their facial features, how the corners of their lips twitched and their eyes appeared sad. “Oh, Emrys. You have so much to learn.”

 

He brought his hands to his face and pressed into either side of his nose, shutting his eyes tight. There was some solace in knowing that Arthur lived, but as was typical of ancient, magic creatures, the cryptic nature of their conversation made his weary mind ache.

 

Lowering his arms to his sides, he ensured that he stood between the two as a precaution. “Why did you summon me?”

 

The creature drifted toward him, arms extended and slightly raised by their hips. “I sense that you regard me as an enemy. My desire is not to harm you, Emrys, but to _help_ you. You have diverged from your path. If you continue along this one, you will reach a gruesome end with far more heartbreak than you can bear.”

 

“I can handle quite a bit, thank you.” The unease Merlin felt came not from the creature’s claims but from their conviction. “But I still don’t understand what you want from me.”

 

They lifted their featureless face and brought their hands to their abdomen, cupped with palms skyward as though to receive raindrops. “This, Emrys, was not how we were to meet,” they said solemnly. “And this was not how Arthur was to learn of your powers.”

 

“That’s _your fault_ ,” Merlin snapped. “If you wouldn’t have called to me, I wouldn’t have left the campsite until morning, and he wouldn’t have followed after me. I wouldn’t have had to light my path. He didn’t have to know.”

 

A somber shake of their head refuted his argument. “You were careless, Emrys. The world is full of watching eyes. You should know how dangerous it is to be true.”

 

He swallowed then sighed. “Well, there’s nothing to be done. Arthur knows. I can’t undo that mistake. Whatever path I’m on is the path I’ll have to follow. I’ll serve Arthur no matter what he thinks of me, even if I must do some from a dungeon.”

 

“Your loyalty is honorable,” the creature said. “Admirable and pure. Know that Arthur appreciates your support without magic, but that alone will not suffice. He needs you by his side, Emrys. He needs your magic to fulfill his destiny. If you are banished or sentenced to death, the fate of the world will be terribly grave. You must know this to be true.”

 

Merlin wanted to deny it. He wanted to believe in his powers and in Arthur’s strength, but his confidence faltered. “I do.”

 

The creature made a sweeping gesture with one hand, rotating their wrist away from their center and forming a compact orb of pulsating blue light that danced around their fingers.

 

“I will help you, Emrys,” they said, “if you wish it.”

 

Merlin spared a glance at Arthur’s still form. Lying in the mud, face squashed against the dirt, he hardly looked the part of a king. But Merlin knew his prowess, had witnessed his growth. He knew how great a leader—and friend—Arthur was.

 

The uncertainty of Arthur’s opinion, how he might react or retaliate, was enough to send Merlin spiralling. He was not his father, that Merlin knew well, but Uther’s influence was strong. In disguise, Merlin had once nearly been burned to death, and the fear and dread coupled with that memory twisted his stomach. Arthur knew Merlin, had trusted him with his life, but learning something unexpected and frightening about a confidant and friend could have disastrous results.

 

Arthur would do what he thought best for his kingdom. Right now, that might mean Merlin’s demise.

 

He couldn’t risk it.

 

Lifting his gaze to meet the creature’s eyes, Merlin steeled himself and fought to keep his hands steady. “Yes,” he said. “Undo what has been done.”

 

* * *

Merlin sat statue-still, staring at the fire, until dawn broke. After the creature had worked their magic, they had transported the two travellers back to their campsite, leaving Merlin with a faint tinge of nostalgia and an ache like regret.

 

When Arthur awoke, he spasmed beneath his blanket, fighting against its weight until he sat upright, blinking rapidly. He searched for Merlin and frowned when he found him. “Have you been sitting there all night?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Look, Merlin, I appreciate your devotion, but there’s no sense wasting your energy like this,” Arthur said as he stretched. “You’re much more use to me alert and rested than you are, well, like that.”

 

“Right,” Merlin said, bending his joints with difficulty, as though they had rusted, so that he could stand. “I’ll keep that in mind next time.”

 

For a moment, it seemed Arthur’s concern outweighed his inclination for jovial taunts, but he furrowed his brow before he could express it, resting one hand against his forehead. “I feel… I feel as though I had the strangest dream,” he said, squinting at the low fire. “I can’t remember any of the details, but I’m fairly certain you were there, Merlin.”

 

“I’m honored that you would dream of me, sire.”

 

Arthur pitched the closest object within reach, which happened to be a pouch of nuts. Merlin easily dodged the attack and surprised himself by grinning, tossing a twig in Arthur’s direction in retaliation. With a sour expression, Arthur shook his head with disapproval.

 

“How dare you assault your king?”

 

“How dare _you_ make such a poor throw?”

 

Unable to contain his laughter, Arthur threw off his blanket and met Merlin’s eyes with a bright, indifferent expression. “We should get moving,” he said, peering toward the sunrise. “Our kingdom awaits.”

 

He made no mention of the well. His memory had been purged. Merlin couldn’t deny the emptiness blooming inside him.

 

As Merlin equipped the horses and prepared for departure, he tried to ignore the knot of guilt and dread forming in his stomach. The magic cast upon Arthur was unlike any Merlin had ever witnessed, and he was certain it had worked efficiently and effectively. There was no remnant of his memories from the night before. Arthur had been rendered clueless once again.

 

The heaviness of Merlin’s eyelids could not compare to the weight in his chest. He gripped the reins tightly just to stay grounded as the horses trotted along a familiar path.

 

Morning passed without hesitation, and around midday, Arthur yawned, taking a gulp of water from his pouch without pausing.

 

Deprived of sleep and filled with doubt, Merlin found himself wondering how life would have changed had Arthur accepted him unconditionally. Merlin would have had an easier time of cleaning up after the king and keeping him safe, and Arthur might have found more reason to keep him by his side. Merlin believed himself to be more valuable when permitted to utilize his abilities; more than a servant, more than a man, he was a sorcerer, destined to support the king without credit or accolades. He would come to accept that history would forget him, mark him down as myth or fable. Magic, he learned, had no place in official records. He was to be a shadow, complementing the king’s light.

 

Merlin yawned, wiping at his eyes, and saw that Arthur was staring at him. “Y-yes, sire?”

 

“I know the journey’s long,” he said, “but I appreciate your companionship. Your company has made tedious and arduous trips bearable.”

 

“I’ve done nothing, Arthur.”

 

He stared ahead. “That is what you are best at.”

 

Merlin scoffed. “I’ve had many years of practice.”

 

“But know I am sincere,” Arthur continued. “Our travels are not always easy, and you have provided great comfort and solace in trying times. Whether that was your intention or not, of course, remains unclear.”

 

Gripping his neck to ease the tension from his muscles as he stretched, Merlin huffed. “That’s very kind of you, sire, but much of the time, I would rather remain in Camelot—if given the choice.”

 

Arthur guided his horse closer just so he could grind his knuckles into Merlin’s arm. “You always have a choice, Merlin. Just get over your pride and admit you enjoy spending time with me.”

 

“Well, someone’s got to make sure you behave,” Merlin said.

 

With a wry smile, Arthur spurred his horse ahead, squinting toward the horizon. “We’re drawing close. We should be able to reach the gates before dusk.”

 

“Without rest, I presume?”

 

“Yes, Merlin, without rest,” Arthur said. “What are you, a child? Don’t complain about sores and aches now; you’re young and moderately healthy.”

 

“Oi.”

 

Arthur laughed, then slowed his pace, admiring the forest line for a few moments as though biding his time. “I’ve thought about this quite a bit, and my father would have me hanged if he were alive to hear me say this,” Arthur mused, “but some days I wish we could use magic to make our lives easier.”

 

The look on Merlin’s face, however twisted and dismayed it must have been, compelled Arthur into justifying his thought.

 

”Come on, Merlin, don’t be a prude. Consider how quickly we could travel, how easily we could set up camp. A sorcerer must have an easy life. Holding all that power to command at their will, able to bend the world. It is remarkable. I can’t begin to conceive of how I would use such abilities.”

 

“I’m sure you would find some use for them.”

 

“If magic weren’t used for such nefarious acts, it could be used for some many great things,” Arthur said. “And the ones who wield it must feel something incredible. Imagine how fortunate they are, to have access to such incredible power, how mighty they must feel.”

 

Merlin brushed his thumb over the calluses on his palm, spurring his horse ahead so that Arthur could not see his face. His hands trembled. In his state, he felt disconnected, from Arthur, from Camelot, from magic. He was Merlin, a young man fighting to keep his kingdom and himself safe against all odds, against all forces, alone.

 

“Yeah,” he said solemnly once he found his voice, lifting his chin so he could see the castle rising in the distance. “Imagine that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah I made up a random creature for this fic and no I have no idea what they are. Creative liberty and laziness are a terrible combination.


End file.
